When Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place, her first thought was to see if there was a library. She had already read through every book in her possession, already completed all of her summer homework, and she was just so bored.
Her second thought, upon realizing that there was, in fact, a library, was to read every single book that rested in it.
"Oh, no you don't," Mrs. Weasley had said, seeing her wanting gaze angled at the library's doors. "You're not stepping foot there until we clean it out, and throw away anything in there that may be Dark."
While Hermione would normally love to help with that endeavor, she knew that doing so would include throwing just about every book in there away, and she needed new material. Hogwarts: A History just wasn't working anymore. Besides, knowing more about Dark Magic couldn't hurt her, in fact Hermione rather thought that learning more about Dark Magic would help her to better defend against it.
But Mrs. Weasley wouldn't hear it, Hermione already knew. So she kept her mouth shut and waited for an opportunity to slip past her. With a wink and a baking disaster, Sirius managed that quite nicely. 'Thank you,' Hermione had mouthed behind the irate witch, before ducking into the library.
All things considered, she thought to herself, this has got to be the tamest room in the whole house. And it was very tame. The books were neatly organized on the shelves. One side was dedicated to published and bought books, the other side filled to the brim with handwritten journals, presumably written by Sirius's ancestors.
There were no Dark Artefacts, or curses waiting to punish her should she touch the wrong thing. Sirius wouldn't have let her in if there were.
She ran her hand along the spines of the books, delving deeper into the room until her hands started to collect dust. Old books, maybe centuries old, fragile and cracking and full of knowledge. Hermione hungered for that knowledge.
Though she did want to read to get rid of her boredom, there was another ulterior motive that she had. She wanted to learn information that could help her win the war. That could help her help Harry win the war, rather. He was the one who would have to face Vold- him... deep down she knew it. No matter what happened, Harry and him would have to face each other as equals and fight.
Even if it was Dark knowledge, Hermione didn't care. She just wanted to make things easier for her best friend. So she pulled what seemed to be the oldest book from the shelf, and started reading.
A few hours later, she clutched a small leatherbound journal that was basically falling apart to her chest, eyes wide with shock. The knowledge that this journal held... it could turn the tides of the wat in their favor. It could help them win.
Albus Dumbledore stared at the young girl in front of him, then to the old journal she held, then back to her. Young Miss Granger was truly the brightest witch of her age, and perhaps the luckiest, too. What were the odds that someone would stumble upon this bit of information in the huge Black Library?
"It's a ritual," Miss Granger explained, almost babbling with how excited she was. "To summon a strong spirit, though it doesn't say what kind. I've never heard of such a thing as a spirit; ghosts, yes, and poltergeists, but a spirit? Either way, the way these notes are going on, it's powerful. And it can be bound to the caster of the ritual. So of course when I read it I came immediately to you."
She held the journal out to him, and he took it gently. He would go over the information himself, later on. But from what Miss Granger had told him, it would be really useful in this war.
"Thank you, I'll be sure to discuss it with the Order. This may end up being a big help."
Miss Granger beamed, and then sauntered off, to sneak back into the Black Library he presumed.
Dumbledore looked at the book in his hands, then headed off to his office to study the ritual.
Dumbledore stood in front of the order, a newer book in his hands, with the ritual and its instructions printed in his neatest handwriting. He had gone over it last night and copied it from the old and frail journal to a newer one, paranoid about it falling apart and becoming lost to them forever.
He explained the ritual to them, the ingrediants and steps needed, and what it would summon.
"The author of the journal apparently went through with this ritual, and the Spirit came to him. It's powerful, so only powerful wizard would be able to bind it. The author was too weak and the spirit was lost to him."
Molly Weasley chuffed, crossing her arms. "Nothing you can't handle, right?"
The Order looked at him with pride, fully believing he was powerful enough to complete the ritual and bind the Spirit. Dumbledore could only hope he didn't let them down.
"So we're all in agreement to do the ritual?" He confirmed.
A chorus of 'yes' and 'aye's fluttered through the room, everyone in seeminngly complete agreement.
"Then let's get prepared."
Harry sighed, lounging in the bushes of the Dursley's backyard. He had just recieved letters from his best friends, Ron and Hermione, and he knew if his aunt or uncle saw them, they'd snatch it away in a heartbeat.
He opened the one from Hermione first.
Dear Harry,
I'm sorry I can't tell you much about what's going on here. I wish I could, but Dumbledore doesn't want us to say anything important in case our owls go astray. But I can say one thing, Dumbledore has a lead on something that could help win the war, or at least throw it heavily in our favor. I can't say much more than that.
I'm sure we'll be seeing you soon, please just try to stay out of trouble.
Hermione
Harry let out a frustrated snort; why bother holding that bit of tantalizing information over his head, if she wasn't going to tell him the whole deal? He hoped that Ron's letter would be better.
Harry,
Unfortunately, I can't give you any information about you-know-what. Hermione and Dumbledore keep ragging on me, and I get it. Writing down important information only for it to fall in the wrong hands could be bad. I wish I could tell you.
Hermione did something amazing recently, found a good peice of information and brought it to Dumbledore. I don't know what it's about, Hermione won't tell me, but I figure you ought to know. I sent some food along with the letter, I know how awful that horrid family of yours can be, please, eat. And please, be careful and don't do anything rash.
Your best mate, Ron.
Well, as frustrating as the letter was, knowing Hermione was making significant changes, pulling her weight while he was just stuck here, it did help to know Ron was also kept out of the loop on this one.
Harry was proud of Hermione, he was. But he was also so jealous. Hermione was out there, doing Merlin knows what, helping Merlin knows how, and he was trapped here with nothing to do. No way to help.
He longed to be there, at the Burrow, with them. He couldn't bear the thought they they were probably laughing right now, having fun together, without him.
He shook his head and tore the letters up, letting out some of his frustration, then aggressively got up from the bushes, not caring about the thorns that cut into his bare arms. He looked at the food Ron had sent him, on the ground. With a scoff, he stepped from the bushes and decided to take a walk to let off some steam.
The Spirit of Life and Creation was sprawled across his moss bed, legs crossed, toes curling; arms up and hands supporting his head. His bronze skin was highlighted in some areas by the sun the escaped through the trees' foilage, and his curly auburn hair was twisted around one of his fingers. There were various trinkets scattered around him, some of them only half finished.
His eyes fluttered as a wind blew through the clearing, opeing to reveal warm black pools. He sat up and stretched, his bare torso shifting with the movement, his rib cage jutting out and then fading away as he brought his arms down.
He stepped from his moss bed to the bare ground, smaller moss beds and various flowers growing in the places he stepped. He walked up to a mirror hanging from a vine and studied himself, noting the dark bags under his eyes.
He shook his head and stepped away to put some clothes on; a beige tank top with coffee stains on it, some blue jean shorts, and a long brown over coat. Muggle clothing, a fashion that he'd recently taken to. Though he was sure if he walked into a muggle place with his outfits he'd be shunned...
Oh well! He wore what made him happy, and that was what mattered.
Welp, time to get back to work, he thought happily, turning back to the trinkets on his bed.
Before he could take a step, he felt a tugging at his gut. He only had time to put a surprised look on his face before he was being pulled away.
[UNEDITED]
